


He Who Meddles in the Affairs of Dragons is Tasty Even Without Ketchup

by w0rdinista (Niamh_St_George)



Series: Elinora Cousland [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh_St_George/pseuds/w0rdinista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silly bit of eyegasm fluff inspired by the lovelies over at the Swooping_Is_Bad LJ comm.  Set during the Flemeth side-quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Meddles in the Affairs of Dragons is Tasty Even Without Ketchup

It had, in retrospect, not been Elinora's wisest strategy to date, and she was nearly certain Nan would have had some allegorical childhood tale to bring Elinora's idiocy into relief. And, as she looked at Flemeth's dragon-self, towering over them all, a scolding from Nan was no less than she deserved. Once again, the Cousland cursed her boldness when confronting the apostate. Nan had warned Elinora about her smart mouth many times over the years, but now the young woman found herself faced with a large, fire-breathing reason to curb her tongue.

"Then again, I'm pretty sure if I'd been nicer about it, she wouldn't have turned into a fluffy bunny," she muttered under her breath, raising her shield against Flemeth's sweeping claws.

Elinora leaned into the force of the blow, and felt her boots scrape backwards, kicking up dirt and weeds. She hefted Starfang and sunk it into the flesh of the dragon's mighty leg; a deafening roar followed, and while her ears were ringing, Flemeth's tail slammed solidly into her chest, sending her backwards. Her head hit the hard, frosty ground, and the landing jarred her body, knocking the air out of her lungs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Leliana, Wynne, and Alistair weren't faring much better.

_Thank the Maker for Wynne's healing_, she thought, pushing herself back to her feet and charging into the fray once more. But the magical attacks and healing efforts were draining the older woman – she could see that plainly. Elinora attacked Flemeth with renewed voracity – this would _not_ be their final stand. Laying hands on that grimoire meant a great many things; it could even conceivably help them defeat the archdemon. As with all of their tasks so far, failure was not an option.

But as the battle wore on, Elinora's arms burned with exertion, and every muscle in her body screamed in protest. Leliana's quiver was empty of arrows, and she too had joined the melee, sinking daggers into Flemeth's scaly flesh. Wynne's spells were weakening as she likewise felt the strain of the battle.

A blast of fiery breath knocked them all back. Elinora's grip tightened on Starfang's hilt and, trembling with effort, she pushed herself onto her hands and knees. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leliana sprawled on the ground, dazed. Wynne wasn't moving.

From somewhere to Elinora's right came a deep, baritone growl. "I have had just about enough of this." She turned her head in time to see Alistair get to his feet, his face, stained with blood, dirt, and sweat, his features pulled into a mask of ferocious determination. With a mighty yell, the Warden sprinted toward the dragon, and at the last minute hurtled himself through the air, sword raised. For a terrifying instant, it looked as if Flemeth might catch him in her mighty jaws, but instead Alistair used her force against her, landing him heavily on the back of her neck. Oathkeeper came down with a mighty crack, and as the blade plunged into the shapeshifter's skull, her long neck twisted and jerked wildly as Flemeth, in her death throes, attempted to throw Alistair from her back. With both hands, he twisted the blade, and Flemeth fell, sending Alistair tumbling to the ground as dark blood poured forth and steamed in the cold air, her massive limbs twitching. Panting with exertion, Alistair sheathed his sword.

The golden lights of Wynne's healing spells whirled all around them; despite this, it took a long moment for Elinora to recover enough presence of mind to stand after that. Alistair approached, offering a hand up. She took it, and let him pull her to her feet with a clank of armor.

"Are you all right?" he asked, turning a watchful eye on her. "You look a bit dizzy. You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"I'm fine," she managed, tryng not to stare at him. "Let's... let's just... get that grimoire and be done with it."

***

"Did you _see_ that?" Leliana and Elinora were huddled by her tent, sharing the remains of crusty bread and surprisingly good cheese. "Maker's mercy, I'd had no idea our little Alistair could move like that!"

The Warden's face grew warm. _Neither did I_. "It was..." she trailed off, clearing her throat, "...quite impressive."

"It shows he's able to take charge, no?" Leliana's blue eyes held a mischievous glint.

"Oh, yes."

She leaned in, lowering her voice and grinning wickedly. "I wonder if he's as gifted in other arenas."

Elinora let out a scandalized laugh. _ "Leliana!"_ But the redhead only dissolved into giggles. It was difficult not to join her.

Just then, Alistair's voice cut through their mirth. He was eyeing them both suspiciously through the campfire flames. "What? What are you giggling about over there?"

"Uh." A choked, smothered laugh. "...Darkspawn?"


End file.
